Jack Sparrow: The only rules that really matter are these: what a man can do and what a man can't do. For instance, you can accept the fact that your father was a pirate and a good man or you can't. But pirate is in your blood, boy, so you'll have to square with that someday. And me, for example, I can let you drown, but I can't bring this ship into Tortuga all by me onesies, savvy? So, can you sail under the command of a pirate, or can you not?

Elizabeth: It's a pirate medallion.
Barbossa: This is Aztec gold. One of 882 identical pieces they delivered in a stone chest to Cortés himself. Blood money paid to stem the slaughter he wreaked upon them with his armies. But the greed of Cortés was insatiable. So the heathen gods placed upon the gold a terrible curse. Any mortal that removes but a single piece from that stone chest shall be punished for eternity.
Elizabeth: I hardly believe in ghost stories anymore, Captain Barbossa.

Barbossa: Aye. That's exactly what I thought when we were first told the tale. Buried on an island of dead what cannot be found except for those who know where it is. Find it, we did. There be the chest. Inside be the gold. And we took 'em all. We spent 'em and traded 'em and frittered 'em away on drink and food and pleasurable company. The more we gave 'em away, the more we came to realize the drink would not satisfy, food turned to ash in our mouths, and all the pleasurable company in the world could not slake our lust. We are cursed men, Miss Turner. Compelled by greed, we were, but now we are consumed by it. There is one way we can end our curse. All the scattered pieces of the Aztec gold must be restored and the blood repaid. Thanks to ye, we have the final piece.

Elizabeth: And the blood to be repaid?
Barbossa: That's why there's no sense to be killin' ya yet.
(Elizabeth stabbes him with the butterknife)
Barbossa: I'm curious... after killin' me what was it you plannin' on doing next?
(She runs out and sees the pirates, all decaying skeletons)
Barbossa: Look! The moonlight shows us for what we really are. We are not among the living, and so we cannot die, but neither are we dead. For too long I've been parched with thirst and unable to quench it. Too long I've been starving to death and haven't died. I feel nothing... not the wind on my face nor the spray of the sea, nor the warmth of a woman's flesh. You best start believing in ghost stories Miss Turner. You're in one! What are ya looking at? Back to work!